


Alchemist Dabbles

by Emerald_Leaves



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4107823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald_Leaves/pseuds/Emerald_Leaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of one-shots for Royai Week 2015. Rating and warnings may change. More characters will be added.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 Prompt: Dream.  
> Warning: AU

The men all clustered around the poor mailman, pushing and shoving one another, all hoping to be the first the name called out, the first to receive a letter, all hoping they’d receive one. And Roy Mustang was no exception. As he watched the other soldiers crushing the mailman the moment he entered the mess hall, demanding he start handing out letters now― Maes being one of the worst offenders― the State Alchemist found that, despite his anxiousness, he was better off not getting involved in the miniature battle before him. After all, most of the men harassing the mailman were all expecting letters, Roy…well, he wasn’t so sure.

It had been a few months since his deployment to Ishval, and while already believing he’d died and gone to hell, he was still here, wishing for a small comfort in form of a letter. It was one of the most coveted items among the men, everyone waiting anxiously for letters from loved ones. So far, no one had gotten one, the mail having been halted along the front for reasons none of them fully understood, but now…

Now there was nothing and no one that could stop the men from mauling the mailman, all desperate to hear from the ones they loved best.

Roy wasn’t sure if there’d be a letter for him, though. When he’d left, he’d only given his address to his mother―who had basically said she probably wouldn’t have much time to write―and Riza Hawkeye. While his mother’s remark to his request didn’t surprise Roy, that just being how Madame Christmas was, he hadn’t really gotten much of a response from Riza. The girl had taken the address and simply nodded her head, not really looking at him when he’d ask if she’d write. Somewhere deep in his gut, he was afraid she’d forget to not only write, but would forget about him completely. After all, what was he to her in the end, except one of her father’s old students?

“Everyone stand back!” the mailman shouted at last, hitting everyone away with his sack of mail. “Everyone take ten steps away from me and let me read the names!”

Maes eventually came slinking back next to Roy, who smiled as the taller man pouted. “I swear, Roy, if I don’t get a letter from Gracia, I’ll die right here, right where I’m standing.”

Despite the self-loathing Roy still held for himself, having almost broken down completely just a few weeks ago for all of the atrocities he’d committed, the Flame Alchemist had bounced back a bit, having taken a chapter from his friend’s book. Despite how utterly eccentric Hughes could be, Maes was really a wise man. It was in large part thanks to Maes that Roy found it within himself to attempt to glean any happiness he could while here, to truly thank God for small favors and not give into sorrow.

And so, with a slightly brighter mentality, Roy was able to jokingly pat his friend on the back in mock-sympathy, as he might have done back at the academy. “You’ll be a grievous loss,” he replied gravely.

When an ‘R’ name was read, Roy flinched, for a moment hoping that it would be his turn. No such luck.

“Ugh!” Maes whined, actually trembling with his restless excitement. “I need a letter, Roy!”

The younger man nodded, but said nothing. Ears still straining, he had yet to hear either his or his friend’s name. There didn’t seem to be a particular order to the names being read.

“What about you?” Roy turned sharply to stare at his friend’s question. “You expecting any letters?”

Feeling inexplicably panicky, Roy shrugged. “Not really. Just…thought maybe someone would remember me.”

A truly sad expression marred his friend’s normally cheerful visage. “I’ll share my letters with you, if you want,” he offered. “U-unless it’s something particularly juices that I’m sure Gracia wouldn’t want anyone else to read,” he laughed, blushing a bit.

Smirking, Roy shrugged. “Those would be the only ones I’d be interested in.”

The two laughed, the sound strange and strained, nothing more than a bunch of nerves, both from the anticipation of a letter and from the war they were still trying to process. Laughing here didn’t feel right, not after all the death and destruction, yet laughing was all they could do, lest they break down and cry.

“Maes Hughes?”

“THAT’S ME!” Maes screamed, tearing forward, pushing everyone out of his way as he charged towards the mailman, arms outstretched. “THAT’S ME!!”

The mailman gasped, utterly terrified as the manic man rushed towards him, and Roy had to hold back a laugh when he saw the thoughts of fleeing pass over the mail carrier’s face. But apparently realizing Hughes would only continue to hunt him down, the mailman simply held out not one, but three letters as far from his body as possible in offering to Maes, as if the crazy man were nothing more than a rabid beast. Honestly, that wasn’t far from the truth. 

Once the letters were in hand, Maes let out a triumphant whoop of joy, jumping up and down in glee. “Gracia! You do love me! You do!” he all but wept before rushing off to the side of the crowd, anxiously tearing open his letters to read them as fast as he could.

With a fond shake of his head, Roy continued listening to the names being called, shifting uncomfortable from foot to foot. The crowd was getting thinner, and it looked like everyone was getting a letter today, some several, as the apparent backup had been more delayed than anyone realized before.

As the bag became emptier and emptier, Roy entertained the thought of leaving. There wouldn’t be a letter for him in there, and he didn’t want to look like the sad fool that everyone pitied. And as nice and well-meaning as Maes’s offer had been, Roy didn’t want to read any of Gracia’s letters. They’d be too personal and he’d feel like he was intruding. He wouldn’t steal his friend’s joy, not even in an attempt to create his own.

He was just turning to go when his name was finally called, “Roy Mustang!”

The Major’s stomach did an odd flip, and he wasn’t sure if it was from delight or nausea. But turning back around slowly, he walked over the mailman, half dazed, and certainly much calmer than the other men. It was a shock to him, after all. He really and truly hadn’t been expecting any, despite all his hopes. 

The mailman, haggard and beaten already, gave him a slight smile, apparently appreciating Roy not barreling into him, as he handed off a packet of letters. “Here you go.”

Roy stared down at the letters in shock. “But…there’s too many here,” he found himself saying as he looked at what had to be close to ten envelops in his hand.

“Those are for you, kid,” the mailman shrugged. “Now get out of the way before you get run over. Mason Stevens!”

Another soldier ran forward, and Roy quickly shuffling off to the side, staring blankly at the letters in his hands. It took him all but two seconds to recover and before he even fully realized what he was doing, he was running off as fast as his feet could carry him back to his tent. And then, only then, once under the safety of the vinyl structure, did he sit down and look through his letters with trembling hands.

Mjr. Roy Mustang the letters all read in neat, familiar handwriting. Spreading them all out, Roy managed to find the first letter sent, the dates having been recorded in the corner by the military, who kept track of the incoming mail, before carefully opening it, not wanting to accidentally rip anything.

Still trembling, he read the carefully written words:

Dear Roy,

I’m sorry I haven’t written before, but I’ve had a few things to take care of after father’s death. Don’t worry, I’m fine, everything’s been taken care of, though I found I couldn’t write until now. A horrible excuse, really, but I’m going to try and write you every week from now on, although I’m not sure what to say.

Things here have been rather quiet. As I’ve said before, I’ve had to go into town to settle some old debts of my father’s. They’re nothing extreme, just a few things here and there that I’ve already taken care of. My real concern is fixing the roof before winter. The squirrels have moved back in, apparently. I suppose we didn’t do a good enough job last time we attempted to fix it.

I don’t know what else to tell you, except that it’s raining today. I was hoping to go hunting, but it looks like I’m going to have to wait. I still have plenty stored up from when we went shopping before you left, but I’d rather be more prepared.

Well, that’s all I have for now. Sorry this isn’t a more exciting letter. I’ll try to think of something more to say for next time.

Please take care,

Riza

As he finished up reading, Roy found himself laughing, tears streaming down his face as he clutched the little letter to his chest. He was so…so happy. He had forgotten what that felt like. True, the letter wasn’t more than simple ramblings about inconsequential aspects of daily life, but Roy found he couldn’t be more enthralled or more pleased.

Riza. His dear, dear Riza had remembered him! The Flame Alchemist found himself crying harder, wiping at his eyes in a halfhearted attempt to clear them. Dear, dear Riza.

When he had managed to calm himself enough, Roy took up the next letter and read it. Each letter was wholly unremarkable, but that’s what made them so beautiful. They were such simple little things, unimportant, yet that’s what made them so irresistible and welcoming. Just practical little tidbits of information, nothing embellished or exaggerated. Just like Riza.

All but flinging himself across the tent for his bag, Roy pulled out his notebook, one that he and Riza had gone to town for together to get, and quickly grabbed a pencil. For the first time in ages, there was a smile on his face as he began to write back in an attempt to cheer Riza the same as she had cheered him.

He would respond to everything she had written to him, and he would try to think of things to say to her in return. Their old, easy conversations would have to make due on paper for the time being, but now Roy looked to the future with more optimism than he’d felt in a long time. And now he’d dream of the day he could be reunited with the girl who had always been his entire world.

My Dear Riza...


	2. Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al decides he's seen too much skin...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 Prompt: Skin

Of the two of them, Alphonse Elric was much more subtle and even tempered than his older brother. Everyone knew it. If Edward became too emotional or generally unbearable, people came to him to try and reason with the older boy. While annoying and certainly exhausting, Al always undertook the task of trying to smooth things over with the people Ed pissed off (which was usually pretty well everyone). It wasn’t that he necessarily liked doing it, but Al felt like it was his responsibility to look after his brother. 

Who was the older brother again? 

So that’s why Al found himself strolling down the hall of the East Command and to Colonel Mustang’s office, because Ed had once again gone too far with the commanding officer. Alphonse sympathized with his brother, he really did, but this was getting ridiculous. He knew full well just how annoyingly precocious and sarcastic the Colonel could be, but then, that never gave Ed the right to explode in the man’s face. Ed’s lack of respect for his elders really sat wrong with Al, always had, and not wanting his brother’s big mouth to get him into too much trouble, the younger Elric found himself going to speak with and apologize to the Colonel on Ed’s behalf. Because Ed never would. 

But for all of his well-meaning intentions, for all of his manners, Al was worn-out from lecturing his brother before coming and forgot to knock on the door. Instead, when he opened it, intent on speaking with the Colonel quickly before running off to find Ed, Alphonse found himself freezing in mortification. Mortified because he hadn’t knocked and the Colonel wasn’t alone. 

There, right on top of Colonel Mustang’s desk, sat Lieutenant Hawkeye, her jacket undone, blouse ripped open, a lot of skin exposed as a fierce battle raged between her and the Colonel over who could suck the other’s face off. The Colonel’s appearance wasn’t much better. His hair sticking up at odd ends, his own jacket was nowhere to be seen while the lieutenant was running her hands down his bare chest, skimming fingertips dangerously on the top of his trousers. Both were flushed, both had their eyes closed, and both were obviously not aware of the boy who had just walked in on them… fraternizing. 

Alphonse had absolutely no idea what to do. He stood bolted to the floor in the doorway, unable to look away as the Colonel pulled the lieutenant off his desk and began pushing her towards the closet. Lieutenant Hawkeye actually moaned as she pulled on the Colonel’s wrinkling white shirt. The two didn’t even break contact, still devouring each other’s faces, before they managed to rip open the closet door. Finally, breaking away, the Colonel smiled wickedly as he pushed the Lieutenant inside, before strutting inside himself, pulling off his shirt dramatically before working at his belt. 

And when the closet door shut, Al was snapped out of his stupor, and if he could have blushed, he would have been red all over. He nearly slammed the door to the office closed, not liking having to hear the moans and sighs from within the closet, but then, he didn’t want to get caught either. He would die if the Colonel found out that he knew just how close the Flame Alchemist was with his subordinate. And the fact that he had seen Lieutenant Hawkeye’s…

No! No one could find out about this. Ever.

Thinking better of his initial instincts, still embarrassed but realizing that he’d walked in on a very great secret, Alphonse carefully locked the door from the inside before closing it as quietly as he could. Once that was done, he tried to tiptoe away, all the while wondering how the two officers hadn’t heard him coming before. 

As flustered as he was, Alphonse knew he couldn’t say a word to anyone about what he had just seen. Especially not Ed. Not only would Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye get in trouble, but he could potentially ruin a lot of people’s lives who were relying on the Colonel and his ambitions to become Führur one day. That couldn’t happen. 

While the Colonel didn’t know it, he had gained another important and discrete ally in Alphonse Elric, who couldn’t help but think—despite his mortification—about what a cute couple the Colonel and Lieutenant made. Their secret was safe with him. He just hoped he would be able to look them both in the eye and not remember them without their clothes on.


	3. Telephone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Day 3 of Royai Week. Prompt: Telephone.

It happened every time.

Every.

Stinking.

Time.

Whenever Lieutenant Hawkeye had a day off, Colonel Mustang inevitably spent the entire day on the phone.

The.

Entire.

Day.

And this wouldn’t have bothered Havoc much if the Colonel had been doing business, following leads, getting orders from the higher ups, or anything like that, but he wasn’t. Oh no. Not Roy Mustang. When Lieutenant Hawkeye was out, Mustang was on the phone with Elizabeth.

It never failed, when the Mother Hen was out, the phone was in Mustang’s hand and he was cooing at Elizabeth. And it was absolutely disgusting to listen to. But despite hating to hear all of the gross mushy stuff, it did spark the curiosity of the team about just who Elizabeth was. No one in the office had ever seen the mysterious woman, and no one probably ever would.

A man such as Roy Mustang had a reputation. He was a lady’s man, a smooth operator, and an enchanter. Almost every week he had a date, always with a different girl. One week it was the girl from the grocer. The next it was the pretty brunette from down the block. Then it was, inevitably, the girl Havoc had thought he was soulmates with.

Every week a different face.

A different name.

A different girl.

But then there was Elizabeth.

None of them could figure it out, not Havoc, not anyone. From the way they talked on the phone all day long, it sounded like the Colonel and that girl were close. Very close. Once they’d heard Mustang ask her what she was wearing. They listened each time as their boss laughed, flirted, schmoozed, and charmed the woman over the phone until not even the men were sure they’d be able to resist the Colonel. Each and every time he was on the phone with the mysterious woman, Mustang showed a side of himself that they might not have believe existed had he not been talking to Elizabeth.

No one could make sense of it. This Elizabeth must have been something amazing, or at least Jean reckoned it had to be so. After all, for Mustang to keep calling her every opportunity he got after having gotten bored of Tiffany…well, that said a lot. Tiffany had been perfect. Nice full lips, seductively broad hips, and of course, breast the size of melons. Havoc drooled just at the thought of her.

But after only a date or two, Mustang had come waltzing into the office one morning, looking utterly bored, as he told the men—who were all eager to hear about his date—that he’d broken it off with Tiffany. “Shame, too. Too bad she wasn’t more interesting.”

Interesting!!

Mustang had chosen interesting over drop-dead gorgeous! He’d waved off big boobs and flexible legs for interesting. How the hell could elastic-like limbs and pouting lips not be interesting?!

But apparently Elizabeth was interesting.

Elizabeth could have the Colonel laughing and smiling and tugging at his collar with a flush. Elizabeth had to have had it all. Or that’s what Havoc thought. After all, if a man would and could willingly leave behind Tiffany with absolutely no regrets, it had to be because that man had set his eyes to an even better prize.

Mustang’s dream girl.

That’s what this Elizabeth had to be. Havoc had never seen the Colonel’s eyes sparkle quite so brightly as they did when talking to Elizabeth, his lips always turned upwards into a smile. He was never this giddy, not even when talk of promotions were rumored around the building. Never did the Colonel lay on the charm so thickly as he did when talking to Elizabeth.

If Jean didn’t know any better, he’d say that Mustang was completely, incandescently, and all together smitten with the woman over the phone. But that couldn’t …

Was he?

The lanky man carefully glanced over at his commanding officer and watched as yet another smile stretched across the man’s face, eyes shining with a twinkle that was only ever present when on the phone with the mysterious woman. Mustang looked so happy, so relaxed, so…

If Mustang was really so interested in this girl, why didn’t he stop all his fooling around? Why didn’t he just chase after Elizabeth exclusively? Surely that’s what he wanted to do.

But as he as Havoc thought about it, the more he realized that maybe the Colonel couldn’t go after Elizabeth. Maybe this Elizabeth was just as monstrous of a flirt as Mustang was himself? Maybe this was a game to them, neither wanting to be in a committed relationship? Or maybe…maybe Elizabeth knew of Mustang’s reputation with women and didn’t want to get involved? Maybe this was her way of enacting revenge for her sex for all the fooling around the Colonel had done over the years? Or maybe she just plain wasn’t interested?

The last thought struck Jean oddly. Suddenly he felt sorry for the Colonel. The blond knew all too well what it was like to get friend-zoned. He’d had so many girls giggle and flirt around with him, only to say they weren’t serious or thought of him only as a friend. It was just about the worst kind of feeling in the world. Left in the uncertainty of never knowing if he should push a little harder, that maybe if he stuck around, they’d realize they loved him too, or if he should cut all connection and move on.

Was that what the Colonel was going through?

Looking at the facts, Mustang was always the one to call Elizabeth, never the other way around as far as Havoc could tell. It also seemed to be the Colonel who was asking all the questions, always keeping the conversations moving. Always him that looked so happy while he talked, only to fall quiet, an almost sad expression on his face, when he was forced to hang up at the end of the day or because of a disruption around the office.

Maybe this was more than infatuation for Mustang. Maybe this was more than simple flirtation. Maybe this was the Colonel being desperate, desperate to win over Elizabeth.

Maybe Elizabeth was more than just Mustang’s dream girl. Maybe she was the one who got away.

Everything suddenly became so clear. All the dates with women, getting bored of them, the quiet, contemplative looks out the window on a slow day… Maybe the Colonel had lost his chance with Elizabeth, and maybe he was trying desperately to get her back. Because now Jean saw all the twinkling in the Colonel’s eyes when he was on the phone, his smiles and laughs, the utter and complete joy on his face for what it really was.

The Great Romancer, Roy Mustang, Womanizer Extraordinaire, was in love. And the poetic irony was the woman he was in love with didn’t fall for his charm. Elizabeth, from what Havoc had seen, didn’t love Mustang back.

While it was true that the Colonel could be a grade A asshole, Jean still found himself sympathizing with the other man. It was always terrible to lose a person you really and truly cared about, a girl you could see yourself spending forever with. Not that Havoc could call any of his past relationship serious-serious, but from his own experience with heartbreak, and watching the Colonel try so hard over the phone, no one with half a heart could remain unsympathetic. It was just…sad.

Jean’s contemplative study and sympathy carried over to the next day. When he got into the office, he discretely began watching the Colonel. The happy, bubbly man from the day before was nowhere in sight. Instead, back was the rather tired, indifferent looking man that they had all gotten to know so well. Masking his pain, brave man! Havoc felt his eyes prick with tears.

“Second-Lieutenant?”

Snapping out of his daze, Jean looked over to find Lieutenant Hawkeye frowning down at him. Crap. He’d forgotten that Mother Hen was back today. No wonder the Colonel couldn’t properly grieve another loss at gaining Elizabeth’s attention, Hawkeye wouldn’t allow such sulking!

“Uh, y-yes, Ma’am?”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, lowering her voice, blocking his view of the Colonel like a wall. “Why do you keep staring at Colonel Mustang?”

Having been specially employed into Colonel Mustang’s private gang, Havoc had come to respect and trust each member of the group. If any problems were ever to arise, he knew that he could rely on everyone in the team to help him. Jean trusted these people with his life, and he knew they trusted him as well.

So that being the case, feeling that nagging sense of loyalty in the back of his mind, Havoc decided to take a gamble and perhaps enlist Lieutenant Hawkeye for help. After all, she’d known the Colonel longer than any of them. “I think,” he began, keeping his voice down very low, forcing the higher ranking officer to have to lean down to hear, “that the Colonel is suffering from a broken heart.”

Whatever she might have expected, that was apparently not in her realm of possibilities. Rearing back as if she’d been slapped across the face, Hawkeye glared down at blond man with a glare so frightening, so horrific, Jean nearly wet himself. “What?” she demanded.

“Shh!” he held up his hands, desperate not to be heard. “Listen, it’s just…Well, when you were gone yesterday―and please don’t tell the Colonel I’m the one that told you this!―he got on the phone with some girl named Elizabeth. I think he’s head over heels for this girl― you can see it in his eyes, actually― but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t love him back. And now look at him,” Jean nodded towards the Colonel, who was staring out the window, oblivious to everything around him. “Poor guy. He’s got it bad.”

The nasty, terrifying, soul-eating scowl was wiped clean off of the Lieutenant’s features as she turned to stare at the Colonel. Her cheeks were tinged pink, but thankfully she didn’t seem angry anymore. Instead, Jean noticed that Hawkeye became rather…pensive. Maybe it had been right to tell the Lieutenant. She was closer to Mustang than anyone, maybe she would know what to do to help him get over Elizabeth?

Without another word, not even glancing back down at her subordinate, Hawkeye marched away and went back to her own desk to work. Her cheeks were still pink. She must have really been irritated, Jean thought, but she didn’t show it, nor did she take it out on anyone, not even the Colonel. Instead, she threw herself into her work and didn’t even look at Havoc the rest of the day.

And on the day went, everything falling back into the same routine as always. Eventually, between work and the others’ hassling, Havoc found his righteous and noble quest to make the Colonel feel better lessening in its urgency. He invited the Colonel out drinking over the weekend, which Mustang agreed to, but oddly added the stipulation of, “but only if the Lieutenant comes along.” A smart precaution, really, as the men had a hard time deciphering when it was time to call it quits.

Besides, they needed a reliable driver.

So, at the end of the day, as everyone began filing out, it came to be that Havoc was the last to leave, save the Colonel and Lieutenant Hawkeye. The two were discussing some duty roster as Jean was walking out the door. He was halfway down the hall when he remembered his lighter still on his desk. Turning back around, he almost walked through the door, when he paused, a soft question stopping him dead in his tracks.

“I heard you talked to Elizabeth yesterday?”

Shit! Lieutenant Hawkeye really was going to confront the Colonel over this! Praying silently, Jean hoped that she would remember not to name drop. He did not want to be on his commanding officer’s bad side for the next several weeks!

“That’s right,” came the almost too-calm reply.

“Careful, Sir. People are starting to think you’re serious about that girl.”

“And what if I am?”

There was a pause, and Havoc could just imagine his two superiors facing off, each glaring at the other. While Hawkeye usually won petty arguments against the Colonel, Mustang was no coward. When he felt strongly enough about an issue, he stood his ground and did not back away. Not even the Lieutenant’s infamous glower could dissuade him.

There was a soft sigh. “You only ever talk to her on the phone, Sir.”

Another pause stretched into silence. Not even the birds outside could be heard. It was as though the entire world had fallen into a hush, all except the clock, which clicked on, rooting them to reality, reminding them that this wasn’t a dream.

“Maybe one day,” Mustang’s voice was quiet, sad, “I’ll get to meet with her. Maybe one day…she’ll give me a chance?”

Havoc would have dearly loved to have seen what was going on around the corner. From the heartbroken tone of the Colonel to the utter melancholy that hung in the air, the Second-Lieutenant was not ashamed to admit that he had tears in his eyes, tears that were slowly leaking down his cheeks. Anyone with even an ounce of compassion would weep for such obviously painful unrequited love.

“I hope you do, Sir,” Hawkeye’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle, bringing Jean back from his wandering thoughts. “And I…I know she’ll give you that chance.”

Too much! It was too much!

Deciding that he had other lighters, Havoc made his getaway before he could get caught. And so, once he tiptoed a sufficient distance away, he decided to haul-ass and ran as fast as he could out of the building. He didn’t stop once he was outside, not until he was halfway home. He didn’t want anyone to see his tears. 

Damn emotions.

Damn Elizabeth!

But at least the Colonel’s got Hawkeye, Jean thought as he walked the rest of the way to his apartment. She was a true friend, one that stuck by the Colonel and didn’t give false hopes like Elizabeth.

While Jean Havoc wasn’t a simpleton, he also was also in the habit of seeing what he wanted to see. He quickly became consumed with his own private soap-opera, absolutely convinced that the Colonel was in some kind of beautifully tragic romance, that from that point on. He missed all of the secret looks, all the shy smiles, and slight lingering touches between Mustang and Hawkeye when at work. He didn’t realize that the sparkle in his commanding officer’s eyes that he had when talking to Elizabeth, while muted, was always present when he looked at his Lieutenant. And every slight flush, every protective gesture on the Lieutenant’s part were interpreted as business as usual.

No, Jean Havoc knew that Colonel Mustang was violently in love, but what he couldn’t have imagined was that the woman on the telephone was the same woman that stood by the Colonel every day.


	4. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 of Royai Week. Prompt: Understanding  
> Sometimes it doesn’t matter what others think they know, but what you each silently understand.

They had little in common. 

That was fact. 

He was a city boy, a manipulator, and a womanizer. He was as charming as they came, but also as indifferent, too. Once he set his eyes on a goal, he stopped at nothing until he had obtained what he sought. Hot tempered, smooth talking, sarcastic, and incredibly devious, Roy Mustang was a force to be reckoned with. 

She was different. 

A poor country girl, a follower, and stern. She was blunt to the point of being rude some times, and often described as cold. While ambitious in her own way, she preferred to follow orders and protect those few whom she could respect. Detached, candid, practical, and more reasonable than most, Riza Hawkeye was her own brand of justice. 

Colonel Roy Mustang and Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye had become a common sight together. Where ever one was, the other was surely at hand. They were as different as night and day, the Colonel and Lieutenant, one seemingly selfish, the other seemingly selfless. One was set on achieving power, the other at protecting power. They were so dissimilar; people often wondered how they could stand to be around each other for as long and as often as they were. 

The general consensus was that they two had formed some kind of understanding. They worked around one another to achieve great things. A strictly professional, ridged paradigm that helped them move through their days together. 

But what other people did not understand was that the Colonel and Lieutenant had more in common than what one might suspect. They did not realize how both individuals wore masks for the outside world, neither ever truly showing what was beneath. That Mustang’s goals were Hawkeye’s, that what Hawkeye believed was what Mustang believed. 

Ever since they’d met when they were young, Mustang and Hawkeye had known they were vastly different. But it hadn’t mattered. They had come together in a way that, while perhaps a bit forced, was pure nonetheless. They had forged a genuine friendship, one that was put through the test time and time again. 

But as much as opposites attracted, there was one thing that the two had in common and always would. One defining aspect of their lives― so profound― that they shared, that it drew them naturally together. One thing that simultaneously made them so much stronger yet also terrifyingly brittle. 

One night, as Roy walked into Riza’s apartment at three in the morning after a desperate phone call, he found his subordinate on the couch, staring blankly into nothing. Shrugging off his coat, he quietly walked to sit beside her, wrapping his arms around her. The moment she felt his touch, she leaned into his chest, sobbing quietly. 

They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. This ritual went far back, back to a time when the smell of burnt flesh seemed forever grafted in Roy’s nostrils, when the deafening bang of a rifle constantly rang in Riza’s ears. Even now they sometimes saw the bright flashes of fire, heard the screams of their innocent victims, felt their minds slowly starting to fall apart as they were forced to acknowledge the wrongs they had committed. 

As powerful as basic commonality was, guilt had always proved so much stronger. And as the two dogs of the military sat together, curled up, crying softly at the shared horrors they had witnessed, deep down, Roy was glad for the guilt. Glad that, despite the pain, it always led him here.


	5. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 of Royai Week. Prompt: Rain

As the rain poured down in droves over the city streets of Central, the general consensus of all the inhabitance was it was a miserable day. For those working under the leadership of Colonel Roy Mustang, it was even worse. Investigating a murder was one thing, but having to quickly take in the scene before all the evidence was washed away was that much worse. 

It was just a plain, miserable day. 

Standing off to the side while his team worked, Colonel Mustang stayed huddled away under an umbrella with Lieutenant Hawkeye by his side. There was a terrible scowl on the Colonel’s face as he watched the investigation before him. And while a murder was certainly a horrible thing to occur, it was not uncommon in the capital city. Shit happened, as the saying went, and for people in the profession of soldiering, death was nothing new. 

And so, it was due to this fact that most people misinterpreted the Colonel’s scowl as his frustration and annoyance with the rain. After all, being the Flame Alchemist made rainy days rather inconvenient, to say the least. The moment his ignition gloves got wet, or sometimes even if the air was too humid, the sparks he could usually create were nowhere to be seen. 

When it rained, he was useless. 

And while it was true that the Colonel didn’t necessarily like rainy days, it was also wrong to assume he hated them. No, in fact, he did not hate them. What he hated were people who wrongly assumed that just because he was the Flame Alchemist, he couldn’t do anything else. While perhaps unable to create sparks and fire of his own, Roy could still mange and wield a gun effectively. He’d scored top marks at the academy, and still carried a pistol with him at all times. 

Only a fool relied on one means of defense. 

No, Roy Mustang did not hate rainy days. They were problematic at times, sure, but that did not warrant hatred. In fact, Roy had rather pleasant memories of rainy growing up as a boy. Rainy days meant that Madame had more customers, and more customers meant that the girls were kept busy, which meant that the Madame did not want him around. And since his aunt did not like him to hear too much, and definitely not see too much, Roy had been free to hide away in his room and read to his heart’s content, to do as he liked. 

This pleasant association with rain carried on into his apprenticeship with Master Hawkeye. Apparently the older man was more productive in his research on such days and usually shooed Roy away to study on his own. And while out in the country, with no street traffic or sirens blaring in the distance, just the pure, unadulterated pattering of rain against the side of the house, a cup of tea in hand, he’d been allowed to simply enjoy the day. There was nothing quite as soothing as listening to the rain out in the country. 

But even after he’d become the Flame Alchemist, there were positive aspects of rainy days that could be gleaned. 

One such benefit was that, usually, he was left alone. Being the Flame Alchemist, when high stress situations that needed to be resolved instantly, with an alchemist’s touch, the higher ups looked elsewhere. And while normally the Colonel liked to keep his hands in every hot case transpiring, liked to be in the know, sometimes it was a relief to not be called upon to act. Sometimes a man really did just need a rest from the stress and insanity that came with a job like his. 

Movement to the side caught the Colonel’s attention, and he turned slightly to see Lieutenant Hawkeye readjusting her grip on the umbrella. As always, her face was set in a serious neutral as she watched the progress of the investigation. He noticed her free hand hung deceptively at ease against her side, but knew that should the situation require it, her pistol would be in hand in an instant, lightning fast. 

Because of their positions, her one shoulder was starting to get wet from the deluge that seemed determined to flood Central. Shifting over a bit, conscious of his shoulders, the Colonel made more room so that the Lieutenant could more fully stand beneath the umbrella. He was aware that because of their ranks, he had to remain in front of her as a show of authority and, in fact, superiority, but the Lieutenant always fit neatly behind him. The black scowl that had marred the Colonel’s features throughout the entire investigation lessened when he felt an arm just barely touching his back. 

No, Colonel Mustang did not hate rainy days, not even after becoming the Flame Alchemist. The most important reason for this being just behind him.

A long time ago, after their innocence was so cruelly shattered in Ishval, after they had returned, the then Lieutenant-Colonel Mustang and Second-Lieutenant Hawkeye had come to an understanding with one another. Mustang had dreams, ambitions that he would see done no matter what, and Hawkeye wanted nothing more than to aid him on his way to the top. From that point on, they had crafted a professional, albeit somewhat unconventional, relationship that had thus far jettisoned them forward and up the command chain. 

But there were lingering, nagging ‘what ifs’ in the back of Roy’s mind, almost constant second guesses when it came to the woman behind him. There had been a time when he went off to the academy, after he’d returned and took the State Alchemist Certification Test, and even during the war, when Roy had to wonder, ‘what if’? What if he could have made a life with Riza Hawkeye? What if she had cared for him as deeply and as passionately as he did her? What if he should have asked her to marry him, like he’d planned to the moment he returned from active duty? What if she would have said yes? What if…

What if. 

It was no use driving himself insane over the past. The ‘what ifs’ just didn’t matter in the end. They’d each made their decisions, they’d each made a choice, and now they had to live with them. As it stood, Roy was a Colonel, Lieutenant Hawkeye’s superior officer. There were strict, harsh fraternization laws and their mission to think about besides. All feelings the Colonel harbored for the woman behind him could not interfere with his goals. 

Yet on rainy days, ones such as this, Roy found himself able to indulge, to sooth old, bitter aches. Because on rainy days, Roy had the perfect excuse to keep Riza close. 

People called him worthless when it rained, the Lieutenant included. And while he sometimes argued that he was not useless, he did not always prove otherwise. Why would he? Why would he when he could make sure the Lieutenant stayed always by his elbow to ‘protect’ him? Why would he when he could have the excuse to press a little too closely to her while standing under an umbrella? 

While worthless was a title he’d rather not have had, Roy bore it simply because it served an even greater purpose. What others did not seem to realize, what no one ever seemed to understand, was that Roy Mustang was a manipulator; he was ambitious. When he wanted something, he usually got it. And while he knew he could never have Riza Hawkeye as he would like, he would take anything and everything he could from her, treasure up all the touches and smiles he could that were within regulation. There might be ridged rules pertaining fraternization, but there were always ways to bend the rules. 

All he needed was a rainy day.


	6. Blindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Day 6 of Royai Week. Prompt: Blindness.

He didn’t ask for help often, and never begged. So when Roy Mustang stared at her with those empty, unseeing eyes, pleading, Riza knew she didn’t have the heart to say no. 

It had almost been a full week since the Promise Day, since Roy had lost his sight. While strong in the face of everyone who came to visit, putting on his normal confident mask, when it was just the two of them, alone at night in the hospital, Riza was forced to watch her strong, indomitable Colonel crumple. 

At first he’d seemed cheerful despite his situation. Perhaps it had been shock. Perhaps he had believed it had all been a dream. But as each day came and went, and his eyes remained dark, slowly, the reality began wearing the man down. 

At last, the reality of the situation seemed to have been properly processed, and the horror of what he had lost began settling in― He had lost his eyesight. And not by anything he had done. He’d been forced to commit a terrible transgression, forced to see the Truth, and he had lost that which he had held most dear. 

Getting up out of her bed, the Lieutenant quietly padded over to the Colonel. It was about two in the morning, and with their recoveries going so well, the nurses had long since given up checking in on them throughout the night. There would be no one to interrupt them. 

“Sir?” the blonde spoke quietly, more to alert him that she was close than because she wanted to break the silence. 

It hurt Riza’s heart as she watched her superior officer— the same man that had seared his own wounds shut and carved a transmutation circle in his hand to battle Lust, the same man who had overcome the madness of revenge when facing Envy, the same man that had been determined to fight in the battle against Father despite having been stabbed through the hands and blinded— reaching out for her urgently. Helplessly. His hands groped in the air, and the blonde took another step forward to take them in hers. 

She allowed herself to be pulled into his lap when he grabbed her, holding her close as he sobbed into her chest. His embrace was desperate, almost painful, but Riza didn’t say a word. Instead, she hugged him as best as she could, petting his dark hair, tears spilling from her own eyes. “What do you need?” she whispered. “What do you want me to do?” 

The Colonel said nothing, just held her, before lifting his head. Blank eyes greeted her in the darkness, causing her to bite back a sob. “L…L-let me touch you,” he begged. “Please. Let me…let me know you’re here.”

“I’m here,” Riza whispered, pressing her face into his hair, wishing there was something she could do. Anything. Just to ease the pain. 

His hands came to her arms that hugged his head, and pulled her away. She allowed herself to be moved as he fumbled, both hands eventually coming to her face. The hands, still bandaged from being pierced, and calloused, were intruding and not necessarily gentle, but the blonde allowed them to roam. He was shaking, a few times he’d almost poked her in the eye, but even still, Riza held still. 

The hands moved over her face before carefully outlined the sides of her neck. She heard his shuddered breath when his fingers touched the bandages. The tears streaming from his eyes came faster. He was still blaming himself for her injuries. Stubborn man couldn’t let go. 

But she didn’t try to comfort him at the moment, knowing words would not help now. Instead, she allowed him to touch, closing her eyes at the tentative, butterfly kisses of his fingers. Warm hands cautiously stroked her shoulders, down her arms and back up. She shivered when those warm, deadly hands began tracing the curve of her breast. 

At her reaction, the Colonel paused, but Riza didn’t want him to stop. With as much care as she could, she placed her hands over his, wary not to aggravate his wounds. Gently she helped him squeeze her breast. 

Something in the vulnerable man snapped. Without a second thought, he began kissing her just under her ear, before moving down to ravage her shoulder, pushing down her hospital shirt. His kisses were fire, burning and searing, branding her flesh forever. And she moaned in response to the passion she’d always seen simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Please,” she whispered as she leaned forward and began kissing his neck. 

The helplessness in her tone, the want, the need, it served to relax the Colonel, and his movements became less frantic, more loving. And before they could have thought anything through, they were kissing, unable to hold themselves back anymore. Years of built up tension, so much stress, so much hurt that they just couldn’t repress anymore. 

Their tears mingled together as they continued their exploration. They weren’t thinking anymore, they couldn’t bare it. All that there was in the world was each other. There was no time to deliberate, to consider their actions— it wouldn’t do them any good. All that mattered now was each other and their need. And so, soon Riza was completely on top of he, and he was pulling down her pants. 

The Colonel hesitated only a moment, just before he entered her, and Riza once again found it was up to her to make the first move. She knew what he was thinking, knew the confusion and guilt he still harbored, but she refused to let him succumb to fear. 

“Please,” she whispered again, kissing him lightly on the lips. 

That was all it took. 

Without another moment’s hesitation, he was inside her, moving ardently. All of the tension that had been between them for years was suddenly, viciously released. And Riza couldn’t recall experiencing something quite so beautiful. 

They moved together, panting, moaning madly. Their coupling did not last long, it couldn’t, not with their emotions running so high. He came first, she followed directly after, taking more pleasure in his satisfaction than her own. And for a moment, the two stayed together, their breath mingling as they gasped. Exhausted, physically and mentally, from all that they had experienced with one another, in such a short time, they sat together and simply breathed. 

It was the first time in years Riza had felt any true stirrings of peace. 

And when Riza managed to open her eyes, staring into the beautiful face of her childhood friend, she couldn’t help the soft laughter that followed, kissing his forehead. How long had she waited for this? How long had she wanted this? She couldn’t contain her mirth as she kissed him again. “I love you, Roy” she laughed, still awed, still amazed with what they had done. 

Thankfully, a low chuckle came from her lover as he reached up, hands no longer shaky, to cradle her face. For the first time in too long, his smile was warm. “I love you.”

And while in each other’s embrace, it was decided that the world had become a little more bearable, and a little more beautiful place to live.


	7. Past, Present, & Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 of Royai Week. Prompt: The Past & Future

Growing up poor meant Riza had become quite creative, and it didn’t matter with what. If they didn’t have money to buy enough food, she would hunt and gather and keep careful vigil over the garden. If clothes ripped or were worn down, she would find scraps of cloth to patch them up. If something broke, she’d either find a way to fix it or figure out a way to use the pieces for something else. 

Nothing was wasted. Everything had a use. In the end, she was never truly in want. 

She didn’t need anything.

And then Roy Mustang came into her life. 

An awkward older boy from Central. A real life city slicker. And sadly it was true what they said, people from the city really were worthless.

Apart from alchemy, Roy couldn’t do anything. Well, that wasn’t quite true, he was a good reader, but really, where did that actually get anyone? What good was it in real life? She knew from watching her father, it just meant that he could sit around all day and do nothing. That he could make excuses to get out of doing anything worthwhile and practical. 

Of course when he first arrived, Riza was wary and shy around the young man that her father had actually taken as an apprentice. The last man that had come to Father had been rather…frightening. But Roy was anything but: Lanky, scrawny, black shaggy hair hanging over his eyes, and a crooked smile. Too smart for his own good, that’s what her father had called him one night when she was ‘helping’ with his research. 

But the initial fear was quickly replaced with bemused irritation as the older boy went about his life with the Hawkeyes. Always in the way when he wasn’t studying or practicing with her father, always chatty, and most annoyingly, persistent that he help around the house. This last one was the most aggravating considering he couldn’t do much other than dry dishes with some level of competency. 

When he first offered to assist around the house, Riza would be lying if she said she wasn’t excited. She did everything around the house, from meals to hunting to all the washing. Sharing at least a little of the burden sounded heavenly. That is, until she realized Roy couldn’t cook, couldn’t hunt, and his washing didn’t meet up to specifications. In fact, she’d caught him scrubbing the dishes up and down rather than cleaning with a circular motion! He folded clothes incorrectly, halving the shirts rather than folding them into three quarters. 

Guns were right out. The first time Riza had handed him a rifle, Roy had stared at the weapon with wide, fearful eyes. With a snort, she’d sent him to go pick berries while she hunted rabbits. It was somewhat pleasing to see him slink back towards the house, head hung in shame. After all, what kind of man didn’t know how to hunt? 

Months flew by, and Roy continued to be a pest always underfoot. When a tea cup shattered, he offered to fix it with alchemy, not even giving her a chance to say she could use the pieces for something else. When she was working in the garden, he was outside, too, pulling weeds without gloves (like an idiot). And when she was having trouble with school work, without her even asking, he’d sit down and start explaining the assignment to her, offering assistance and suggestions. 

Yet his worst offence— that Riza could see— was that Roy never took a hint. Her glares had little effect on him, and he would merely smile back. When she snapped at him, he shrugged. And no matter how often she said she could do thing on her own, he continued to offer, continued to help. 

For months this persisted, until one day, Riza had hit her boiling point. One afternoon she ran off into the woods after Roy had decided that he would fix lunch since she’d been running behind schedule while caring for Father, attempting to clean his room because he refused to take care of himself. Scrambling into the kitchen, pushing up her sleeves, she’d stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed the older boy making stew. When he’d realized she was there, he’d had the nerve to smile brightly at her, offering to ladle a bowl for her.

Everything went red. 

It was too much, and for once forgetting her responsibilities, Riza just ran. She just had to get out of the house, away from her father’s gloomy, oppressive presence, from all the chores, from work, but most of all, from Roy. 

Who did he think he was? Always inserting himself where he wasn’t wanted or needed. Always ruining everything she had planned; making messes she would have to clean up after! Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? Why couldn’t he just hole up with her father and stay out of her way? That’s what alchemists did, after all, they stayed indoors, locked in their studies, and did nothing all day. They didn’t care about other people, just their research, and they never did anything sensible. She’d learned that long ago. Father was proof!

So then, why wasn’t Roy like that? 

Because she was running so fast, not watching where she was going as she struggled internally with herself, Riza misjudged the height of a fallen branch and her foot caught. In a matter of seconds she was falling to the ground, tumbling down a small incline towards the stream she liked to hunt near. Only a gasp of surprise sounded, Riza long ago having given up screaming, as she tried to relax her body as she crashed to the earth. 

When she had stopped moving, she was dangerously close to the water of the stream. She laid still a moment, panting, before sitting up. Her dress was filthy, her leggings all torn, her knees and the heels of her hands were bloodied from the attempt to catch herself, and her ankle was already swelling, pressing painfully in her tall boots. It took the breathless girl another moment before she could think of what to do. And when she decided to carefully remove her boot to analyze the injured ankle, tears unconsciously ran down her cheeks from the pain. 

The ankle didn’t look broken, yet Riza knew that she was going to have to get back to the house to get cleaned up. But even as the thought occurred, she stayed put, finding that while she wanted relief from her injuries, she also didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to have to return to the house, to see her father still locked away from the world, to see the house slowly falling apart, to see all that she still had yet to do. 

To look around and see that her mother was still really gone. 

Enough was enough, and for the first time in years, the girl allowed herself to fall into old grief along with all the new she’d been saving up. She was so tired, she just didn’t care about anything anymore. She didn’t want to be strong, to be grownup. She didn’t want to be the one Father relied on, the one taking care of house.

And so she sat there, dirty and bleeding, and cried. 

It began raining, only causing Riza to cry harder. Of course it was raining. It always rained when bad things happened. It had rained the day Mother had passed away. The day Father had all but died with his wife. 

Five or so minutes went by as Riza wallowed in self-pity, the rain pattering against the leaves, the stream gurgling beside her as it filled. She was so lost in her own misery that she didn’t hear the quiet footfalls. In fact, when a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder, she jumped, flinching away. But as she looked up, she found herself staring into dark, obsidian eyes. 

Roy was staring down at her with a sad expression, but he said nothing. Instead, he shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around the small girl. Riza watched, shocked and too distressed from all of her released emotions to say anything, to tell him she didn’t need it. And when he carefully picked her up into his arms, carrying her back up the slope and through the woods, all protest died before they even made it to her tongue. 

In her mad dash, Riza had gone quite far from the house. She knew she must be heavy, but Roy didn’t say a word. Instead, he carried her as if she were no heavier than the books he toted around, and eventually made it to the house some fifteen minutes later. 

Somehow the older boy managed to open the door with his hands still full of the sniffling girl, and when they entered, Berthold Hawkeye was nowhere in sight. Not that Riza thought her father would be around or worried about them. But still. The lack of his presence sent a new wave of hurt, and Riza found herself burying her nose in Roy’s shoulder to help stop the sob that wanted to break free. Roy said nothing, carrying her to the kitchen before setting her down in one of the chairs. 

Riza watched as Roy went to the sink, washed his hands, before boiling some water and getting a wet washcloth. Coming back over, the older boy sat beside her, carefully taking off her other boot and propping up her swollen ankle before wiping her face clean of mud and tears before working on her bloodied hands and knees. His ministrations were gentle, light, almost as though he wasn’t touching her at all. And while Riza certainly could have taken care of herself, she found it rather…nice having someone else fussing over her for a change. 

As the kettle began to whistle, Roy stood and made her a cup of tea, adding just the right amount of honey (his own private store he’d brought with him since Riza never used honey often. Too expensive), before carefully setting it down before her. Brown amber eyes followed the boy as he then dug under the sink and pulled out several bandages and ointment that had been there for years in case of emergencies. Without a word, he wrapped up her hands and knees as best as he could with the supplies they had, before turning to her ankle. 

Roy looked up at her, and Riza knew what he was asking despite there being no words. She tentatively nodded and watched as he pulled off her wet sock, taking the ankle in hand. A hiss escaped as he tenderly touched along the bone and rotated it. His face was a mask of concentration as he worked, his brows furrowing, and lips pressed together in a thin line. Riza had never seen such an intense expression. It was mesmerizing. 

When it seemed he was satisfied, Roy walked over to the sink and she saw a flash of transmutation. A second later he came with a small block of ice and a washcloth. He lightly pressed the ice to her ankle and wrapped the cloth around to hold it in place. And when that was finished, he walked away.

Riza stared at his retreating back, amazed. She did not expect him to come back—he’d done more than enough already. But he continued to amaze her when he not only returned, but picked her up easily. Riza held on to her tea cup, having snagged it at the last second, before allowing Roy to carry her into the living room by the fire. There was a blanket that he must have spread out a minute ago already waiting for her as he sat her down. Another chair was pulled up to keep her foot elevated, too. And once all that was done, Roy took off his too-big coat from off her shoulders and replaced it with another warm blanket. 

When she was settled, Riza finally found the courage to peek up at the older boy. Embarrassment, misery, and guilt welled up, and she suddenly feared that he didn’t like her anymore. She’d been terrible to him up until this point. Never once did she thank him for his offers to help (besides the first time), never appreciated anything he did, and scolded him for his efforts. Every negative feeling she’d had recently she’d taken out on him, even when—if she were honest with herself—he had nothing to do with.

But when she looked up now, there was no scowl or sneer but a tiny, hesitant smile, his eyes warm. A ‘thank you’ wanted to come out, an apology, something, but just before Riza had the chance, the two children jumped when Father called out for Roy. 

It was time to continue lessons. 

With a small sigh, Roy turned away, still wet and a bit shaky himself, as he walked to the study. But as he passed, a large, comforting hand was placed on her shoulder. He squeezed lightly, friendly, before moving off down the hall. 

Riza watched with wide eyes. 

It was in that moment, sitting by the fire, watching Roy go, thinking back to all he had just done for her―more than anyone else ever had―Riza Hawkeye realized that she not only wanted Roy Mustang around, she needed him. 

. . . 

And years later, as she watched the newly promoted Brigadier-General Roy Mustang standing proudly on stage before a large, cheering crowd, receiving a medal for outstanding valor and courage while in the line of duty, even after being grievously injured, Riza smiled proudly. He had come a long way from the lanky, awkward teen she’d known, and she wasn’t just the poor, stubborn little girl she’d once been. But even still, there was still one thing that hadn’t— wouldn’t —change. 

Dark eyes glanced in her direction, a flash of white teeth warming her heart as she clapped along with all the others as the medal was pinned on Roy’s chest. Despite how he’d grown, how she’d grown, Riza knew that no matter what, she still needed, and would always need, Roy Mustang in her life. Past, Present, and Forever.


End file.
